


Moratorium

by Reddwarfer



Category: Wild Adapter
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Romance, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 04:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/pseuds/Reddwarfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Tokito remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moratorium

**Author's Note:**

> For: [](http://glass-icarus.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://glass-icarus.livejournal.com/)**glass_icarus**. I promised you porn and instead give you a plot with smut.

"And I want to watch that new anime today. It has guns and swords and stuff. Not like that pussy shit that was on that last one. Who the fuck cares about girls with magic wands, prancing about and saving the world anyway?" Tokito rambles excitedly as he eats the chocolate Kubota just bought him.

Kubota walks beside him, silent but smiling, giving no indication that he can hear the soft pad of footsteps following behind them.

"Hey…Kubo-chan, _Kubo-chan_ ," Tokito says, nudging him none-too-gently in the side. "What the hell…I'm talking!"

"Yes, yes," Kubota replies, turning his attention more fully on Tokito, who's annoyed by the lack of it. "I think people watched that show for…its charms."

"CHARMS?! What the fuck is so charming about half-naked girls flitting around with magic wands?" Tokito gives him an incredulous look that makes Kubota want to kiss him…just a little.

"Who knows?" Kubota places his arm around Tokito's shoulder, and continues walking home. The man following them will have to wait 'til later.

In the four years (three months, ten days, eighteen hours, two minutes, and forty-five seconds) that Tokito has lived with him, Kubota has killed exactly twelve private detectives that have come snooping about. Most of them were from one group or another, but that wasn't what bothered him. Those guys he would gladly ignore and he's made it perfectly clear to them—or at least the smart ones—how dangerous it was to do anything more than watch. It's the ones not sent by the different yakuza groups that worry him.

It's the thought that this next detective may have been hired by some unknown family looking for Tokito that sends him, and his gun, on a late-night trip to the convenience store when Tokito demands some more chocolate hours after they had returned home.

The charitable part of him that hopes Tokito will one-day get his memory back has died long ago and left nothing but a fierce possessiveness in its place.

 

In bed that night, Kubota rolls Tokito on top of him, and lets himself be reminded just to whom he belongs. Tokito's always so cautious, so careful that it's almost hard for Kubota to reconcile this Tokito with the one who smashes game controllers without trying. Tokito touches him softly, hesitantly, and prepares him so slowly that he often thinks he will break from the waiting. He grasps Tokito's shoulders, holds the back of his neck, anything to ensure they're touching, ensuring he's there, real.

Kubota topped once—three years, four months, one day, eight hours, six minutes, and fifteen seconds ago—and has refused to do it since. He can still recall the shadow in Tokito's eyes, the way Tokito opened too easily under Kubota's touch, the way his blood burned—and not just from the arousal he felt—throughout his body. He had been pathetically grateful when Kou called him later that week with one of the more _shadier_ jobs, the kind he didn't do with Tokito. Killing a paperless thug didn't change how he feels whenever Tokito so much as whimpers in his sleep. There's nothing worse than barely-suppressible rage against a memory, a shadow, a phantom.

Intrigued by the uncharacteristic silence, he often wonders exactly what Tokito thinks when he comes to him like that, _needy and desperate_ , but Tokito isn't explaining and he's not asking.

"Kubo-chan," Tokito whispers, breath hitting his skin, as he curls against Kubota's chest.

"Hmm?" He looks down, blinking his eyes into focus, and watches as Tokito sleeps, continues to murmur his name.

 

 

Five years (one month, four days, thirteen hours, fifty minutes, and nine seconds) after he first hoisted his stray cat over his shoulder, everything changes.

"Hey, Kubo-chan, _Dead and Filled With Lead Two: I Come In Peace (You Go In Pieces)_ just came out! I want to go see it. They say Dead-Eye Duncan kills a helluva lot more people in the sequel."

Kubota looks up from his paper and smiles. The movie will be filled with an hour and forty minutes of pointless bloodshed, violence, and a ridiculously high body count. It's scarily close to their lives, and Tokito wants him to pay so they can see it. It's so perfect—and so perfectly like him—that he readily agrees, and goes to grab his coat when it happens.

"GAHHH!!," Tokito screams, falls to floor. Kubota darts over to him, kneeling close by, but doesn't touch. Tokito still doesn't like being touched, after all this time, until the pain ebbs and he can pretend that it's not half as bad as it is. The fur is close to his shoulder now. It's after a few seconds that he notices it's not the clawed arm Tokito is grabbing; it's his head. Kubota touches him, then, and hopes that it's not what he thinks…

"Oh, shit…I can…everything…all of it…fuck… _fuck_."

…but it is.

"Ku-Kubo-chan, I can…fucking hell…I can remember it all." Tokito is shivering, huddled in Kubota's arms, seemingly unmindful of the vice-like grip Kubota has on him, not wanting to let go…ever.

"Shhh…" he whispers, not knowing what else to say, and not wanting Tokito to say anymore. Anything else would make it real. If Tokito says it, it's real. It's the only truth Tokito has ever spoken that he doesn't want to hear.

 

 

Phone calls are made, and tickets purchased, with frightening speed. The shadows behind Tokito's eyes remain, but now there are names in his mind that can answer the questions on his tongue.

"Well, I'm off, Kubo-chan," Tokito says at the door, because things happen far too quickly when one doesn't want them to, shuts it behind him.

Tokito doesn't ask him to come and he doesn't offer to go. Somehow, it seems to make more sense that way. Or maybe Tokito can recall Kubota's wok and his penchant for using it. _At least,_ he thinks, _Akira-san is dead_ …even if that never can make all those wrongs right.

Instead, Kubota sits on the sofa, smokes a cigarette, and wonders how time just stops five years (one month, five days, six hours, twenty minutes, and fifty-four seconds) after it starts.

 

 

The flat is loud with all the sounds he never notices when Tokito's there to drown them out. He sits, watches the blank television screen, and smokes and smokes and smokes. There's a half-full bag on the floor, two feet from the couch, from their most recent trip to 7-Eleven.

The sight of it is almost enough to make him ache.

"I'm not ready," he says to the emptiness, stands, gets his coat. He's a liar, but doesn't care in the least."Not yet."

Pulling the door open, he finds himself frozen, staring down at a pair of brown eyes staring back up at him. "I have this game I didn't finish yet…and that manga you just bought me…and you promised to buy me pizza this week…and Chiba sounds stupid, anyway," Tokito rambles, hands shoved in his pockets.

Two hours, thirty-five minutes, and six seconds after time stopped, it starts again.

"Tokito," he breathes, burying his face in Tokito's neck yet again, not caring about the half-smoked cigarette in the overflowing ashtray or the scandalized neighbor across the hall. It's only been hours, but it feels like a lifetime, mostly because it didn't occur to him that Tokito would ever _come back_.

Moments later, he remembers himself, pulls himself together and Tokito back into the flat, closing the door.

For the first time, they don't make it to the bed. Tokito blushes, but allows himself to be pushed back on the sofa, and Kubota's intent on anything, everything except stopping.

"Kubo-chan," Tokito says, voice rough, and helps Kubota toss their clothes—somewhere—across the room. The moment their skin touches, a surge courses through him, reminding him, forcefully, of what he _cannot_ live without. Tokito is no longer optional—he never had been.

He kisses Tokito, wet and with teeth, on his mouth, along his neck, chest, hoping to mark him, just a little, as his own. He knows—everyone does, it seems—he belongs to Tokito, but he wants Tokito to belong to him, even if just a bit.

"Tokito," he pants out, reaching blindly over the side of the couch for the bag. He prepares himself, quickly, knowing he doesn't have the patience to deal with Tokito's brand of tender cruelty. It's then that he notes, with amusement, that even after all these years, Tokito still blushes when he watches Kubota touch himself.

He lowers himself down on Tokito's cock, watching the way Tokito's eyes close, mouth opens, and chest rises and falls. Kubota buries his face in Tokito's neck once more, biting the soft skin again. Tokito's nails prick the skin on his lower back as he holds Kubota's hips. The slight pain of his claws, the tight stretch from his hasty preparation, the clenching of his throat, heart chest, are exquisite, leaving him near breathless.

They move slowly together, pushing down and thrusting up in a vague, lazy rhythm. At first, he couldn't wait to start, and now he doesn't want it to end; he wants to drown instead.

Tokito never rushes this, despite how fast he runs through everything else, and pushes up into him with careful, steady thrusts…grasping Kubota's hip with his right hand, and threading through Kubota's hair with his left.

"Kubo-chan," Tokito moans, holding him close, " _Kubo-chan_.

His cock rubs against Tokito's belly, and he tries not to come just yet. He wants this to last as long as Tokito was gone. Tokito reaches up and kisses the side of his mouth, and he's lost, again and again and again. The floods come crashing down on him as Tokito gasps in his ear.

"Tokito," he murmurs, like a benediction, and tries to breathe again. They're both messy and encouraging the couch to follow suit, but he doesn't care. He curls behind Tokito, arm across Tokito's belly, hiding his face in Tokito's hair before closing his eyes. Everything else can wait.

 

"UGHHH, _Kubo-chan_ ," Tokito yells loudly, and in close proximity to his ear, "I'm taking a shower."

Kubota blinks his eyes open, looks down at his body, and agrees. _Ughhh_ indeed. "I'll join you."

For once, Tokito doesn't object. He pretends he's not grinning as he closes the bathroom door behind them.

 

They wake up early. Only this time, it's from Kubota's dreams. He can feel Tokito's eyes on him, asking him questions he doesn't want to answer.

Instead, he asks, "Do you want me to go with you to Chiba?"

"Why the hell would I want to go to Chiba for?" Tokito asks, annoyance in his tone.

Kubota turns in the dark to face him. "Your memories…"

"Does Chiba have something to do with my past? Did that stupid quack doctor tell you that?"

"You…don't remember yesterday?" Kubota asks, wondering if the entirety of the day before was a bad dream, even though he knows it wasn't. He can make out the slightly embarrassed expression on Tokito's face, and adds, "Not that."

Tokito snorts. "If I don't remember, it can't mean that much to me. I only remember the important things."

"You remember me," Kubota says, despite himself, and traces a finger down the length of Tokito's arm. He remembers the way Tokito's eyes dimmed under the pressure of his past. Perhaps it's better this way. Or maybe he's just too selfish to push the issue.

"You're so weird, Kubo-chan," Tokito says, voice heavy with sleep again."Of course I remember you."

Kubota closes his eyes, smiles, and the clock keeps ticking.


End file.
